


Brush my teeth, fix my head, filled with dread

by MyMayura



Series: Throwing Up These Butterflies [3]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Attempted Abortion, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Gen, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Magical Pregnancy, Nathalie Sancoeur-centric, Nathalie actually gets a friend, One Shot, Outtakes, Pregnancy, Sickness, Unplanned Pregnancy, nathalie pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22977142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyMayura/pseuds/MyMayura
Summary: Nathalie's condition continues to worsen, and she struggles to deal with the impact it has on her work and general morale. A particularly bad day leads her to a shocking and distressing discovery, and she finds herself racing the clock to make a difficult decision.This is a behind-the-scenes one shot from Nathalie's point of view that takes place during Chapter 9 of my fanfic Throwing Up These Butterflies.
Relationships: Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth/Nathalie Sancoeur
Series: Throwing Up These Butterflies [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589965
Comments: 25
Kudos: 56
Collections: GabeNath Book Club and Art Club Server, Throwing Up These Butterflies universe - canon and fanworks welcome





	Brush my teeth, fix my head, filled with dread

There’s something almost peaceful in knowing that a situation can’t get much worse.

That being said, there’s not a lot of peace in the way that Nathalie violently vomits into her toilet bowl for the second time that morning.

She’d thought the coughing was bad enough when that was the worst of her symptoms with the broken miraculous. But now, she’d happily cough and cough until blood spilled out of her mouth if that meant she didn’t have to throw up multiple times a day.

A spell of dizziness hits her as she rises, and she leans heavily into the wall after flushing, regaining her strength. Duusu peeks in from the gap in the door. “Are you okay, Miss Nathalie?”

An automatic “fine” almost passes through her lips, but something stops her this time. The day has just barely begun, but she already feels the effects of gravity on her body as if she’s been standing for hours.

She’s exhausted. And no amount of sleep can seem to cure it.

Another thing to curse the broken miraculous for.

But it isn’t any fault of sweet Duusu. Nathalie wipes the scowl off her face, alarmed by how much effort it takes to do so. “I’m tired, Duusu. And I can’t seem to shake it. My illness is still taking its toll on me.”

Duusu flies in and nuzzles up against her. “I’m so sorry, Miss Nathalie! If it wasn’t for my miraculous —”

“Don’t feel bad,” she insists, throat still burning from the acidity. “It’s nothing in your control. And besides,” she says, “I’m lucky to have you.”

Duusu smiles brightly. “I’m lucky to have you too!”

Nathalie tries to return her smile with equal enthusiasm, but she can’t quite muster up the strength.

And then her stomach flips again.

“Oh, God,” she manages to say before ducking her head into the toilet once more. Of course, there’s nothing left to come up, so she dry heaves painfully until her stomach stops churning and quiets uneasily.

“Miss Nathalie?”

She keeps her head down, gripping the sides of the bowl to steady herself. “There’s one good thing about all of this,” she grits, determined to find the silver lining. Duusu makes an inquisitive noise behind her. “It can’t get any worse. This is rock bottom.”

She washes her hands and face, not bothering with makeup, as she knows her mascara will be running down her cheeks by midday if she applies it. She’s quick to tears these days, whether that be from the effort of coughing or gagging, or from the emotional frustration of watching her health spiral downwards.

By time she heads downstairs, she’s nearly an hour late for work, but Gabriel pays no mind. He has been quiet and distracted lately, but even beneath that, she can detect a level of gentleness and patience.

He has his days, however. She can tell that he’s in one of his moods today, but for all the cursing he does under his breath and stomping around the office, none of it is directed towards her. She thanks anyone listening that Gabriel has been so understanding through all of this.

But she doesn’t want to test her boss’s generosity either. She’s horribly late, and she knows from experience that she will need many little breaks throughout the day as her symptoms pop up. She’ll have to work twice as efficiently to keep up, and she might as well skip her lunch. It’s not as if she’ll be able to keep it down anyway.

Her body refuses to cooperate, however. The second that she sinks into her chair, she can feel the weight of her eyelids dragging down. She slaps her hands against her cheeks to keep herself awake as she finishes her emails to clients for the morning. As she’s on the last one, her lids start to droop again.

“Stay awake,” she growls under her breath. Her brain is in a fog as she tries to type out the last few grueling sentences.

Suddenly, surprisingly, she’s waking up for the second time that day. It’s an ominous tickle in the back of her throat that startles her back to consciousness from a sleep that she wasn’t even aware of falling into. She shoots to her feet without even looking at the clock, knowing she has limited time to make it to the bathroom before she starts coughing blood.

It turns out to be a bad idea. Instantly, she’s sent back to her chair as dizziness takes hold. “Oh,” she gasps, grabbing at her head. She’s glad that Gabriel is on the phone, back turned to her.

She takes a few deep breaths, managing to suppress her cough as she does so. Once again, she attempts to rise. Her legs are shaky under her, and her head aches, but she’s stable enough to stagger out into the hall and to the bathroom.

Three bloodied tissues later, she makes her way back to her desk. Her head is pounding at this point, and the invitation of sleep is too tempting.

She struggles through the day in this fashion, dozing off multiple times, only to be woken by an urgent need to cough, or vomit, or pee due to the endless fluids that she’s drinking in a useless attempt to soothe her throat. For once, she’s glad for Gabriel’s absent demeanor; he doesn’t seem to notice how badly she’s struggling to make it through the day.

At least, that’s what she thinks. She’s proven wrong not too long after. By the time afternoon hits, she can barely make it through a singular task. One email in particular is having the effect of a lullaby on her, and she can’t even count the amount of times she’s woken up with her face pressed to the desk. It must be more than several when she wakes up again and nearly jumps out of her seat, startled by Gabriel hovering over her.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she cries, trying to fix her appearance, though she suspects no amount of fussing can make her look fully presentable. “It won’t happen again.”

Gabriel frowns at her. “Yes, it will. It’s been happening all day. You’ve practically slept through the last half hour.”

“I know,” she admits, straightening items on her desk so she won’t have to look at him. “I know. I can’t apologize enough.”

“Don’t apologize,” he snaps. He pulls her computer mouse away from her, out of her reach. “You’re in no condition to be working today. You should have told me.”

Nathalie fights against the tears that spring unbidden to her eyes. She nods, swallowing down the lump in her throat.

Gabriel’s face softens. “I’m not trying to scold you. You should go home. Well, up to your room,” he corrects.

“But—”

“Nathalie,” he says sternly, and goosebumps prickle on her arms. “You’ve accomplished almost all your tasks for the day. Get some rest before you wear yourself out.”

She doesn’t have the heart to tell him that she’s worn out whether she rests or not. “Fine,” she agrees, taking her mouse back from him to sign off. A nap does sound lovely, and he’s right in that she’s managed to complete most of her work, despite the frequent interruptions of sleep.

“Will you be having dinner with us tonight?”

She thinks it over. Her stomach growls. “No, I’ll eat now and turn in early,” she says, knowing that the windows of opportunity are slim when it comes to her appetite. And once she’s in bed, she’ll not want to do much else. “Thank you, sir.”

He nods gruffly and returns to his desk. Nathalie slips out and off to the kitchen.

A decent meal later, she’s feeling tired and heavy. “Are you going to bed?” Duusu asks.

Nathalie can only manage a noncommittal sound in answer. She kicks off her shoes clumsily and climbs into bed fully clothed. The sun hasn’t even set, but she’s more than ready to fall into a deep sleep.

“Poor Miss Nathalie,” Duusu laments. The kwami helps tuck her in as she fails to grab the blankets properly. She zips up to her head and gives her a big kiss on the forehead.

“Thank you, Duusu,” Nathalie murmurs. She’s aware of the kwami snuggling into her side for a moment, and then she drifts away.

She’s pulled out of her slumber by a roll of nausea.  _ “Merde.”  _ She fumbles for the light, disoriented by the sudden blackness of the sky. Once she flips the switch, she hurdles herself out of bed and to the adjoining bathroom in record time.

She’s pleased to find that not much of her dinner comes up, though she realizes how low of a bar that is after the thought passes. She groans, sitting back on the floor without much motivation to get up.

“Again?” Duusu frets.

Nathalie sighs. “I kept most of dinner down.” She finally forces herself to her feet and flushes her sick.

“Do you want to go back to bed?”

To Nathalie’s frustration, she finds that she’s fully alert, heart still pumping vigorously from the effort of vomiting. She rolls her shoulders, and they crackle with tension. “I don’t think I can.”

“Ooh, I know what you could do!”

“What?” Nathalie asks dully, Duusu’s shrill tone bringing back her headache.

“I read about something  _ great  _ on your phone today when you were working. It’s called ‘self-care.’ Have you heard of it?” Duusu asks, flipping excitedly in the air.

Nathalie can’t bite back the smile that emerges. “I have. What about it?”

“You should practice some!”

“Like what?”

“Uhhh…” Duusu becomes pensive. “I didn’t think that far ahead,” she admits. “You could read a book. Or paint your nails.”

Nathalie makes a face. Both of those tasks seem more effort than they’re worth.

“Or… ooh, I know!” Duusu says, swirling around. “When was the last time you took a bubble bath?”

She considers it. “That would actually be quite nice,” she realizes. “Especially before bed.” Maybe the hot water can soothe her aches and ease up the congestion building in her head.

“Oh good!” Duusu squeals, darting back to kiss her on the head once more. “Have fun,” she exclaims before flying through the door back to the bedroom.

Nathalie smiles, shaking her head fondly. She goes to the cabinet under the sink to see whether there’s even anything there  _ to  _ run a bath with.

She pushes various toiletries aside, searching for bubbles or bath crystals. She pulls out a roll of toilet paper, placing it aside, and then grabs a box of tampons. She pauses.

When was the last time she had a period?

She counts it out quickly. Certainly over a month. Her first reaction is nearly panic, the panic that’s ingrained deeply in any woman who misses a cycle. But it’s been years since her last sexual encounter, she reminds herself, and besides, her entire body seems to be shutting down. It’s no great shock that it can’t handle a period right now.

She scowls. Yet another thing to thank the miraculous for.

Nathalie pushes the box of tampons aside, and with it, the thought. Right behind it, she finds a shimmery purple bubble bath solution. “Perfect,” she comments to herself, pulling it out and setting it on the counter with a satisfied sigh.

She takes out her earrings and lays them on the countertop. Next, her hair tie. Once her hair is falling loosely around her face, she runs her fingers through it, freeing it from the severe curl her bun has shaped it into.

She shrugs off her blazer, which she now realizes she hadn’t even bothered to button up at the beginning of the day. She purses her lips, ashamed of how sloppy her appearance has become, especially as the assistant to a famous designer. Gabriel is probably thanking his lucky stars that she’s been working primarily at the mansion without going out much. She finds that she just doesn’t have the energy to put a lot of time in in the morning, and quite honestly, there’s nothing she can do for the bags under her eyes.

Nathalie quickly pulls off her sweater and unhooks her bra with a sigh of relief. She internally scolds herself for wearing it to sleep, and she rubs at her skin, tender and indented from the pull of elastic. Shaking her head, she sucks in her stomach without much thought as to why she’s doing it and unbuttons her pants, kicking them off.

She reaches for the bottle of bubble bath, but stops halfway. It’s been a while since she really  _ looked  _ at her appearance in the mirror for more than a glance, even longer unclothed, and the sight of it surprises her. Her body looks very different from how she remembers it, but the first thing that really catches her eye is an angry red line across her middle where her waistband had been.

She steps closer to the mirror curiously, realizing only just now that her pants  _ had  _ felt a bit tight. But by all accounts, it doesn’t make sense. A feeling of dread nags in the back of her mind. She’s barely keeping anything down right now. And yet, despite all logic, she looks and feels bloated. She runs her hand across that perplexing line with a frown and turns sideways, observing how her normally flat stomach swells out from her slightly.

Pure terror flashes through her.

She’s pregnant.

She can’t explain how she knows, especially since it’s impossible, isn’t it? But she knows. Maybe it’s the fact that as she runs her hands along her belly, it just feels different, weirdly firmer than it’s been in moments of weight fluctuation throughout her life. Or maybe it’s just pure instinct telling her. Either way it hits her like a ton of bricks, and she  _ knows  _ it to be true despite its infeasibility. She  _ knows. _

“Oh my god,” she whispers, cupping the little bump as tears well in her eyes. “It’s not possible. No, no, no.  _ How?” _

Her mind jumps back to her menstrual cycle, more determined now to count it out precisely. She’s missed at least one period she knows, but as she thinks back further, she now realizes it’s been at least two, which makes sense in a strange, awful way, considering that she’s already showing.

Her heart leaps into her throat again as she realizes the timing.

It’s been the question on her mind since that horrible day. She finally knows what wish Dejinnerate granted her. Once that piece clicks in, the rest of the picture falls into place. A sob pulses out of her. 

She’s carrying Gabriel Agreste’s child.

Oh, how wonderful it would be under any other circumstance, she thinks. And then shame and guilt floods through her at the thought. It’s been only a few weeks since they buried Emilie Agreste. Gabriel’s wife. Her friend.

There couldn’t be a less appropriate time for this.

And then the fear rushes back.

She can’t do this. What on Earth would she even say to him? How could she explain? There’s no way to spin it; he’d surely never believe that she’s carrying his child platonically.  _ You could lie about the father _ , her inner voice suggests nervously, but she discards the idea with a frenzied growl. Who else would it be? There aren’t exactly many men close to her. He’d see through it immediately.

There’s only one thing to do. He  _ can’t  _ find out.

“No,” she sobs, and tears spill over. It’s all too much, too fast. She no longer has the emotional or physical energy to support herself, and she reaches forward to grasp the countertop. Her arm bumps against the forgotten bottle of bubble bath, and it falls to the floor, cap popping off. The cold purple substance shocks her toes, and her hold on the counter turns into a death grip.

“Fuck!” she breathes, and sobs again. It’s a bad enough crisis without having to worry about a sticky bathroom floor—

“Miss Nathalie?” Duusu cries, phasing through the closed door. Nathalie freezes. “What happened?”

She’d forgotten entirely that the kwami was just in the next room. “Nothing,” she blurts, knowing the second the words leave her lips that that won’t be enough. “I was just getting ready for bed,” she says, letting any words she can think of spill out of her. “I took my earrings out. I put my hair down.” She shakes her head, desperately searching for any excuse that will make any sense. “I felt weak all of a sudden. That’s all.”

“Are you okay?” Duusu asks, coming closer.

The kwami is too worried to make any acknowledgement of Nathalie’s nude state, but Nathalie herself is suddenly hyper-aware of it. She’s convinced that if Duusu catches sight of her bare stomach, she’ll figure it out as well. “I think I need to sit,” Nathalie lies, quickly sliding down the wall and raising her knees so that her legs block sight of her belly.

“Oh no,” Duusu frets. “What’s wrong?”

Nathalie thinks quickly, calculating a way to get herself out of this urgent problem. “Cold,” she says, scrunching even tighter.

“Oh! I’ll get your robe!” the kwami says. She clicks the lock this time and pushes the door open. Nathalie lets out a feeble sob in her few seconds of solitude.

Duusu flies back in with the bathrobe draped over her head, like a little ghost. At any other time, Nathalie would have smiled. Instead, she quickly takes it and wraps it around herself. The fabric is fortunately thick, but even then, that one layer feels like an inadequate shield from the rest of the world.

She jumps as someone knocks urgently on her bedroom door, her legs kicking out at the shock. “Nathalie,” Gabriel calls.

She’s not ready to face him yet. Panic spikes in her again, and she quickly pushes it down. With horror, she suddenly remembers that with his miraculous, he can feel anything she’s feeling.

“It’s Mister Gabriel,” Duusu says. “Should I go—?”

“No, I’ve got it,” Nathalie assures, rising quickly. Her head spins, but she forces herself forward.

“Nathalie!” Gabriel calls, more insistently.

All her emotions are wriggling inside her, but she schools them carefully and tries to empty her mind as she opens the door.

“G—Gabriel.” Her voice trembles, giving away the emotions that she is trying so hard to press down. She forces her voice to take a more even tone as she asks, “What is it?” as casually as possible.

“I— you—” His eyes widen, and he stops. He looks into the hallway behind him. When he turns back to her, his eyes are pleading. “Can I come in?”

Her breath shudders in. “Um.” The last place she wants him right now is in her room, but what other choice does she have? She scrunches her eyes shut, summoning up the courage. “Of course.” Once he steps in, she shuts the door behind him. She shifts her weight, wishing desperately that Gabriel would take his steady gaze off of her. “What?”

“I felt you through the miraculous.” Once again, she has to push down a fearful reaction. “Not on purpose,” he says, leading her to believe she hasn’t covered it as well as she would have liked. “Only briefly,” he adds. “Nathalie, it was so strong I couldn’t even block it out.”

There’s another flutter of fear deep down, but she forces herself to not let it bubble out. Her mind is going a million miles a minute, trying to come up with something she can say to Gabriel and also worrying that he’ll figure it out himself. She crosses her arms even more tightly, trying to cover her abdomen as much as possible. Now that she has noticed it herself, her belly feels like a beacon, drawing the attention of anyone with functioning eyes.

She comes up empty for words. Apparently she’s used up all her allotted time because Gabriel turns to her kwami instead. “Duusu?” Nathalie is instantly relieved that she’d had the foresight to hide her discovery from her.

What she doesn’t expect is for Duusu to be so upset. “I don’t know,” she cries, fat tears dropping down from her. “It didn’t seem like anything was wrong. She was just getting ready for bed, and all of the sudden, she almost collapsed. She was grabbing the counter for dear life!” Nathalie feels another bit of relief settle in as Duusu finishes her story without any mention of the secret she needs to hide.

“In that case, you need to sit,” Gabriel says, suddenly too close for comfort. His hand reaches towards her and she automatically jumps back, illogically fearful that he’ll touch her growing stomach.

“No,” she rasps, her throat suddenly tight. “No, I’m fine now,” she insists. “It was nothing.”

“It was most certainly not nothing,” he says, much harsher than before. “Nathalie, I have not felt anything from this miraculous in over a week. Anything at all. Your emotions nearly knocked me over. What happened?”

Her lip quivers, and she wills it to be still, biting down on it. There’s a lump in her throat again, and she knows that if she tries to speak again, everything will come pouring out of her in a rushing river of fear and regret.

Gabriel sighs. He looks at Duusu again and asks, “What led up to this? Where was she?”

“In the bathroom,” the kwami exclaims. “She was just taking down her hair, and then all of the sudden she almost fell down!” Duusu has begun to swirl around, getting excited, and Nathalie becomes afraid that she’ll say too much.

“I got scared,” Nathalie finally manages to say, desperate to control the narrative herself before Duusu says something that can’t be taken back. She closes her eyes to block out Gabriel’s face, which has far too much of an emotional effect on her right now. “I — I was just lost in thought, and I felt dizzy, and then everything hit me at once,” she says, the lie beginning to spin out of her with more ease. “The fact that we’re not Papillon and Mayura anymore. That Emilie is…” She can’t go there right now, she realizes, not without bringing the overwhelming guilt back. She pivots, “That I’m not getting better. I’m worse.”

When she opens her eyes again, she finds that his arms are open wide to her, inviting her to be embraced. She wants nothing more than to fold into them and let him hold her, but then she thinks of her little bump, pressed up against him where he can feel it, and she knows that’s not an option.

Her heart screams at her as she steps back.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you,” she says. “I’m okay. I just need some sleep.” She glances towards the door and hopes that he will leave without much fuss.

He nods, arms dropping. “My apologies for invading your space. And… for putting such a burden on your shoulders. I’m sure it hasn’t made anything easier.” He looks as if he’s been scolded, and she feels sadness creep up in her at the thought of him thinking he’s done something wrong.

“You have nothing to feel guilty for,” she says, and she feels as if she needs to make some gesture to reassure him. She reaches out and briefly touches his arm, but she is quick to cross her arms over her stomach once more. “I know it’s been hard for you, and for good reason.” She tries to smile, failing miserably, and opens the door. “Thank you for checking on me.”

He steps through and turns back to look at her. Once again, it is hard to bear the weight of his eyes. “Will you tell me if anything is wrong?”

“Yes,” she says hoarsely. It’s about all she can manage without sparking a breakdown.

She closes the door and stumbles numbly to her bed.

“Miss Nathalie?” Duusu asks.

She can’t answer. Her limbs are trembling, and she’s still reeling from the shock of it all and pushing down her emotions with quite some effort.

Duusu pulls in closer. “Would it help if I cleaned up the soap?” she suggests quietly.

Nathalie quickly nods. She needs to be alone. Now.

Once Duusu flies off, Nathalie brings a shaking hand to her middle, trying to push down all the feelings that come up with it. She looks down to assess how obvious it is, and whether her current attire is a risk. To her own eye, her belly seems huge now, but then again, she reminds herself, she hadn’t even noticed until she was fully unclothed in front of the mirror and really looking for the first time in a while.

She removes her hand and readjusts the fabric so it drapes more naturally. She can still see a tiny bulge, but objectively, it’s not much of anything. She’d be wary of Gabriel noticing if he looked at her too long, but she can’t imagine that Duusu would figure it out from sight. She sighs, one little pound of burden lifted from the tons that are pressing down on her shoulders. She has some looser sweaters that can conceal her changing figure from Gabriel until the problem can be solved.

She can’t keep it. It’s a thought that she doesn’t want to acknowledge, but she’s already narrowed it down to this singular option through the process of elimination. Even if the parentage wasn’t an issue, her health is. She doesn’t think she can physically carry a baby to term.

But logistically, abortion will be difficult. Gabriel keeps a watchful eye on her these days, and so does Duusu. Scheduling appointments will be next to impossible, and she’s dangerously close to the cutoff.

She sits quietly, trying to work out the problem as logically as possible, pushing her feelings about it to the side.

Duusu comes back not long after. “All the soap is cleaned up,” she announces. “Not all of it spilled out. Do you still want a bath, or are we going back to bed?”

She’s about to answer “bed,” when she realizes that a bath actually a good opportunity for some privacy. “I want the bath,” she says, slipping her phone discreetly into her pocket from the bedside table. “Obviously, I need to relax,” she attempts to joke.

Duusu laughs, so perhaps she’s selling it.

“You can play on my tablet,” she offers, hoping to keep the kwami distracted.

Once she’s grabbed some pajamas and locked herself up in the bathroom, she begins to run the water, and she quickly pulls out her phone. She taps on her former gynecologist's personal number; they’d stayed in touch and become fairly close friends after Nathalie switched practitioners when she moved across the city to be closer to her place of employment. But they’d eventually drifted apart when work for Gabriel began to eat up more of her time.

She doesn’t know if their past friendship will be enough for a huge favor, especially since it’s been nearly a year since they last spoke, but she prays that it will be.

“Nathalie?” Raimunde answers in a surprised, but pleasant tone. “Oh, it’s been so long! How are you?”

She barely stops herself from tearing up. “Not great,” she chokes. “This isn’t a social call, Rai,” she says, trying to keep to a hushed tone so Duusu won’t hear her over the running water.

She can practically hear the concerned frown on the other end. She can see it clearly in her mind’s eye: Raimunde setting down whatever book she’s reading at the moment, leaning forward, and pulling her right leg up under her. Nathalie aches, suddenly missing her dearly. “Nathalie, what’s wrong? Are you in trouble?”

“You could say that.” She takes a deep breath. “Raimunde… I need an abortion pill. As soon as possible.”

There’s a palpable silence on the other end.  _ “Nathalie…” _

“I know,” she breathes. “I wouldn’t ask, but I only just found out, and it’s extremely time-sensitive.”

“How far along?”

Nathalie quickly tallies it up again, making sure to count the beginning of her cycle. “Nine weeks,” she says, heart sinking as she realizes what that means.

“I can’t give it to you, you know that.” There’s an edge of pleading in Raimunde’s tone. “You’re in the last possible week, and there’s a waiting period—”

“Fudge the paperwork. Please.”

“Nathalie.”

“It can’t wait,” she stresses. “I swear, I wouldn’t be asking if there was any other option.”

There’s a pause at the other end of the line. “Let me see when I can squeeze you in at the hospital.”

“No hospital,” Nathalie says. The last thing she needs is doctors observing her when there’s magic involved, and besides, it will be terribly difficult to hide from Gabriel. “I need to take it at home.”

“I can’t let you do that; it’s dangerous. You need to be supervised this late, at a clinic at the very least.”

“I  _ can’t,”  _ she insists. “If I have to go in for it, I can’t do it at all, and I’m fairly certain this pregnancy will kill me,” she bites. She has to push down shame again, shame at guilting her friend to do something illegal.

She listens to Raimunde’s breath, sharp and unsteady. “If it was anyone else, I’d tell them to slow down and think about it. Especially since you just found out. But I know you, Nathalie. You’re not the type to make rash decisions.”

“I’m not,” she agrees emphatically. “Please. I need this.”

Raimunde pauses. “I still need you to come in for an appointment. But I’ll deal with the rest.”

“Thank you,” Nathalie breathes, on the edge of tears once more. “Thank you so much.”

“It’ll take a few days for me to create a paper trail. Can you come in Friday for your ‘final consultation?’”

She doesn’t know how she’ll manage to get away from Gabriel and Duusu, but she’ll find a way. “Yes.”

“One more thing, Nat.” Raimunde’s voice drops to a lower tone. “Are you in danger? I hear the water running and you’re talking so quietly. You’re trying to keep someone from overhearing.” Nathalie swallows. “Is someone threatening you? Do I need to call the police?”

“No, no,” she’s quick to respond. “I’ll explain it more when I see you,” she promises. “I’m not in any kind of abusive situation. Just… a complicated one.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise. No one is hurting me.”

“Okay,” Raimunde says, pragmatic once more. “Stay strong. I’ll see you then.”

“Bye,” Nathalie whispers. She hangs up and puts her phone aside.

_ Don’t think too hard about it. _

The bath is nearly full. She figures she might as well make use of it, so she pours in a little more bubble bath before shutting off the water.

She takes off her robe, once again shocked by the changes in her body. She forces herself to strip all emotional response away, regarding her shape as a curiosity, nothing more. Now that she’s looking for the signs, she notices that her breasts and hips are fuller, and of course, her belly. She strokes her hand down it, shivering.

She decides not to do that again.

She lowers herself into the bath and does her best to clear her mind. It’s extraordinarily difficult to do, but she knows it’s essential to making sure that Gabriel stays in the dark. She focuses on sensations rather than thought. Her body pressed against the porcelain. The warmth of the water. The foam tickling her stomach.

Her bump.

She shakes her head, putting it out of mind. She listens to the whir of the fan. She smells the sweet lavender scent of the soap, and she lets it engulf her, calming her wired nerves.  _ Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. _ Eventually, the water grows cold, and she pulls up the plug, allowing it to drain. She shivers in the basin of the tub unless the last of the water spirals down.

She avoids looking at the mirror as she towels off and gets dressed. Her loose top hides her figure fairly well, in spite of its thin fabric.

She is far from okay, but at least she’s in control of her emotions now. She can hang on for the few more days that she’ll be under Gabriel’s eye for.

She sleeps restlessly, but if anything, it helps. When she wakes up, she’s too tired to feel much of anything at all. But she isn’t willing to take any risks; she throws herself headlong into her work, knowing that that is the best distraction from the emotions she’s shielding. Besides, it will help make up for the few days of work that she will have to miss. Gabriel is obnoxious, hovering over her far too much for her comfort, so she does her best to brush him off with the excuse of the busy schedule she’s built for herself.

Figuring out how to get away for the weekend is a difficult task, however. She hasn’t thought ahead very much, other than to pick out the loosest, thickest sweaters she has at the mansion for the next few days.

By Thursday, however, she realizes she’s overlooked the easiest option. She can use her illness and her discovery to her advantage. She drops her façade the slightest bit and lets some of her authentic feelings come through. She lets herself be slightly tired and anxious, becoming incrementally more open through Thursday and into early Friday morning.

She gets a text that morning from Raimunde, asking if she can come in at 5. Nathalie swallows nervously and answers,  **Yes.**

She’s terrified of what she has to ask Gabriel, and even more terrified of the possibility he’ll say no. She hates the thought of baring herself to him, but she knows that the more pitiful she looks, the more likely he is to honor her request. When late afternoon hits, she tries to keep Duusu distracted by telling her to go have fun with Nooroo. The kwami is happy to oblige, and Nathalie excuses herself to the bathroom.

She can’t let her full wall down, not without Gabriel panicking again, but she lets it down about halfway. Fear, regret, and sadness crash over her like a storm-driven wave and she chokes on the sob that rips out of her. She tries to stay quiet, crying roughly but silently into her hands.

A few minutes later, her tears run dry, leaving her feeling empty and exhausted. She blows her nose and then examines her appearance in the mirror, cringing at the sight of her swollen, red eyes, which she was hoping for, but has found herself unprepared to confront. She adjusts her posture, slumping her shoulders a bit to exaggerate her tiredness, which also helps to hide her belly. She feels as if she’s in a dream state as she enters the atelier and walks slowly up to Gabriel’s desk.

He glances up at her, not really looking. “Yes, Nathalie?”

She takes a deep breath. She is trembling, and she can’t seem to make it stop. “Sir, if it’s possible, I’d like to request a few days off.”

“Of course,” he says, not even looking up from his work. “Anything I should be aware of?”

Trepidation rises in her, and she has to remind herself that this is all part of the plan. “I just need to take care of some things at home. And rest.”

“No!” he says, suddenly fierce and direct. Nathalie flinches, shocked by his sudden forcefulness. She feels the beginnings of tears in her eyes, and she can’t push the horrible feeling down. Her heart rate picks up. He knows somehow. How?

But then, he looks regretful. “I’m sorry. I was just… thinking of something else.” His eyes soften. “Of course you can.” She grasps at the sleeve of her sweater, desperate for something to hold onto as she calms herself. “Must you go to your apartment, however? You know I’d feel better if you stayed where we could look after you.”

Her fears rise up again, but she’s prepared for this. She knew there’d be some degree of pushback. “I have to go. There are a few more things I want from my apartment, and while I’m there, I should clean up, pay bills... and…” Gabriel still seems unconvinced, and she grapples with another good excuse. Her eyes flicker around the room, finally landing on her desk. “It’s the only way I won’t be tempted to take my work home with me.”

Finally, his posture relaxes. “Of course,” he says, and Nathalie feels like her insides are melting. “Very well. Have a pleasant rest, Nathalie.”

And just like that, she’s free. She quickly darts around her desk, grabbing the few things she wants to take with her. Making sure that Duusu is still properly distracted and Gabriel is buried in his work, she unpins the Peacock miraculous from her sweater and lays it down on her desk. She practically runs out, heart beating in her throat until she finally passes through the front gates and turns the corner, out of view.

She nearly collapses, her anxiety pooling out now that she’s beyond the mansion’s walls. She allows some of it to release out of her in a few quick sobs, but she’s quick to get a handle on her emotions once more. She’s still close to the mansion, and the last thing she needs is Gabriel picking up on how she’s feeling.

The mansion is slightly closer to Raimunde’s office than Nathalie’s apartment is, and within an hour, she is sitting in the waiting room, counting the seconds until her name is called. She feels nauseous, and she hopes that her lunch manages to stay down this time or at least waits until she’s in a private room.

A buzz from her phone surprises her. A different kind of nausea passes through her as she sees it is a text from Gabriel reading,  **You left your brooch. Did you mean to do that?**

She takes in shallow breaths, trying to steady her hands. She quickly types out a response, trying to sound as casual as possible.  **Oh. No, I took it off just for a moment and must have left it behind.** She thinks for a moment and adds,  **Keep it safe for me?** before sending.

It takes him far too long to respond. Minutes pass, and she barely breathes until he finally sends the one word response of,  **Yes.**

She spends the rest of the wait trying to slow her frantic heart.

Of course, it’s a lost cause. As soon as the receptionist calls, “Nathalie Sancœur,” she’s panicking all over again, and she thinks she really might throw up if she doesn’t focus all her effort into keeping the contents of her stomach down as she follows him to an empty room.

Gratitude fills her as there is a knock not even a minute later. “Come in.” Raimunde enters, and Nathalie takes in every detail of her as if it’s the last time they’ll meet: her deep auburn ringlets, her light brown skin, the freckles dusting her face, and the sympathetic brown eyes that cause her own to fill with tears.

“Oh, Nathalie,” Raimunde says, and that’s all it takes to send her over the edge.

“Rai,” she cries, rising clumsily to her feet to receive a desperately needed hug. Raimunde holds her tightly and securely, giving her some nurturing that she is very grateful to have. Nathalie clings on for dear life, willing her tears to subside as quickly as she can manage them, but it’s an uphill battle.

“It’s okay,” Raimunde says, stroking her hair. “I’ve got you.”

Nathalie nods wordlessly and buries her face in her shoulder.

When Nathalie has finally calmed down a bit and pulled away, Raimunde looks at her seriously and says, “Okay, first thing’s first: What the hell is going on? Why is all of this so urgent and secret?” Her forehead takes on a worried crease. “I know you said nobody’s abusing you, but to me it sounds like the father is bad news .”

Nathalie sighs and closes her eyes, trying to shut out any chance of breaking into tears again. “He isn’t. I promise. But he doesn’t know. And he can’t find out.”

“And why is that? I’m sorry, I don’t mean for this to sound like an interrogation,” Raimunde says, backing off. “I’m just concerned.”

“I know,” Nathalie says. She hesitates, desperately wanting to confide in someone, but knowing she can’t give the whole picture. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“You have my honour,” Raimunde insists.

Nathalie scrunches her eyes. “It’s my boss’s.”

“Oh, no. The one you had a crush on all this time? Gabriel Agreste?”

Nathalie scowls. “Believe it or not, I  _ didn’t _ have any feelings for him _. _ Not at the time that you accused me of it, at least.”

Raimunde cringes. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be making light of it.”

“It’s okay,” Nathalie says, sinking wearily into her chair. “I’d like to believe that it’s nothing more than some big practical joke.” She adjusts her glasses. “It was a one night stand,” she lies, knowing that that is the easiest excuse. “He refuses to acknowledge it. You understand, of course, why I needed this done quickly and discreetly? He and I are still friends to some degree; he would question it too hard if I took any more than a long weekend off.”

Raimunde sits on her stool across from Nathalie. “I do understand, as nervous as it makes me. I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I know,” Nathalie bemoans, dropping her head. “I’m sorry, I know it puts your practice at risk, but I didn’t know what else to—”

“No, sweetie, don’t be sorry,” Raimunde says, taking her hands quickly. “I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about  _ you _ and the possible risk to your health. Are you sure you want to take an abortifacient unsupervised so late?”

“I’m sure,” Nathalie says quickly. “It’s safer than the alternative. I can’t carry to term.” Raimunde gives her a questioning look. She sighs. “I’m very ill,” she reveals. “It’s been an issue for months now, with no consistent improvement. I may very well be dying, and I’m sure going through with the pregnancy would only speed that along.”

Raimunde looks utterly horrified. “How—? What’s wrong? You must have been to doctors.”

“I have. I’ve seen specialist after specialist. No diagnosis. Just a general consensus that it’s not good.”

Raimunde shakes her head disbelievingly. She reaches for her clipboard. “What kind of symptoms?”

As if right on cue, Nathalie’s throat begins to tickle, launching her into a coughing fit. It’s luckily a shorter one than usual, no blood coming up, but it’s enough to make Raimund look even more distressed. “That, for one,” Nathalie rasps. She clears her throat painfully. “Usually worse. Other than that, there’s dizzy spells, random moments of weakness, chills, headaches, and I think vomiting. Though the timing of that one is hard to tell. I had some nausea before the start of my — my pregnancy,” she stumbles, the words feeling foreign in her mouth, “but I didn’t really start throwing up until after… you know.”

“What about the dizziness and headaches?” Raimunde asks, scribbling furiously. “Those can be pregnancy symptoms too, though they’re lesser known.”

“They’ve gotten worse, but I definitely had them before.”

“It could be something respiratory,” Raimunde says.

“My lungs are fine,” Nathalie snaps. Her voice remains low, but she can’t help the slightest bite from creeping into it. “Please, can we not do this? I swear I’ve exhausted every resource on this problem. I’m here to solve my  _ other _ problem.”

Raimunde looks taken aback. “Of course. I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, refocusing. “Let’s go through your general health history. I might ask you about your current symptoms again, but I won’t try to diagnose, okay?”

Nathalie’s lip trembles. “I’m sorry, that was so rude of me.”

“No, you’re right,” Raimunde says. “There’s nothing to feel bad for; you’re under a lot of pressure right now. Let’s just move on.”

They go through the chart together, and Nathalie updates information that has changed in the several years since Raimunde was her doctor. Eventually, the questions move away from her general health, and more towards the pregnancy.

“So no periods in two months, correct?”

“Yes,” Nathalie says.

“And how many pregnancy tests did you take to confirm?”

Nathalie freezes. “Um.” 

“Just one?”

She swallows. “None, actually.”

Raimunde looks up at her incredulously. “You scheduled an appointment without even taking a test?”

“You’re angry.”

“No, I’m not angry,” Raimunde says, setting her clipboard aside. “But this isn’t like you. I’m really concerned.”

“I came here straight from work. We’re in the busy part of the year, so I’m practically living at his house, Rai. How was I possibly going to find the privacy to buy, take, and dispose of a test?”

“But Nathalie, are you even sure you’re pregnant? With your other illness, it might just be —”

“I’m showing,” Nathalie cries, jumping to her feet. “Alright? I’m showing.” She yanks her sweater up and turns to the side, revealing her bump to Raimunde. Small as it still is, she can identify the moment when Raimunde’s eyes catch it and linger. She forces her sweater back down. “You know how I even found out?” she demands, shaking. “It wasn’t my skipped periods, or my headaches, or even my nausea. I was so sick already that those things made no difference to me.” Tears stream down her cheeks. “It was when I finally had the time and energy to look at myself properly in the mirror, and to my absolute horror, I didn’t recognize my own body.  _ That’s  _ how I found out.”

Raimunde sucks in a breath. “I’m so sorry.” She rises to her feet and grabs Nathalie by the shoulders, holding her steady. “That’s an awful way to find out. I don’t envy you.”

Nathalie sobs. “It was.”

“I still have to give you a test though, okay? Just to be sure. These pills are no joke.”

Nathalie nods, wiping her face as more tears stream down.

“It’ll be really easy. I’m just going to have you pee in a cup, and I’ll test it, okay?”

She nods again.

Raimunde grabs a tissue and wipes her face. “Hey, save some fluids or I’ll have to draw blood instead.”

Nathalie lets out a watery laugh, appreciative that Raimunde somehow makes this situation not feel like the end of the world for the very first time. She is already feeling lighter as she’s handed a plastic cup and directed to a bathroom down the hall.

One pregnancy test later, Raimunde enters the room again. “You are pregnant,” she confirms matter-of-factly. Nathalie’s stomach does a small flip, but other than that, she doesn’t react much. After all, she reminds herself, it’s only a confirmation of what she already knows. “I’ll write you a prescription to fix that.”

“Thank you,” Nathalie breathes.

“It will come with instructions, but I’ll lay it out for you verbally, too: You’ll take the mifepristone pill first; that stops the pregnancy from growing. Twenty-four hours later, take the second pill, the misoprostol. That one is going to… well, it’s gonna suck. You’ll get a lot of cramping, you’ll feel sick, and then you’re going to bleed until it passes out of you. And you will probably keep bleeding a little bit through the next few days, though it won’t be as heavy.”

She breathes shakily. “Okay.” Raimunde hands her the script.

She holds on, not letting Nathalie take it from her. “I’m going to ask for updates. If I don’t hear from you, I’m assuming the worst and calling an ambulance. Do you understand?”

“Rai.”

“I’m serious.”

Nathalie searches her face and finds no lie in that. “Fine.”

After some tearful goodbyes, a long ride on the Métro, a quick trip to the grocery store, and a stop at the nearest pharmacy, Nathalie returns to the cold emptiness of her apartment for the first time in weeks. She drops her small bag in her bedroom, sheds her jacket, and puts away her groceries. After pouring herself a glass of water, she opens up her package and takes out the first pill.

Her hand trembles. 

She slams the pill down onto the table before she can drop it or lose it somewhere on the floor. Her breath comes out of her in uneven gasps. She can’t do it. She can’t.

Her stomach rolls violently, and she knows there’s no hope in keeping its contents down. She runs to the bathroom and makes it to the toilet just in time. Tears leak out of the corners of her eyes as she throws up.

She is slow to rise back to her feet, dread weighing down heavily on her. She’d thought that finding out she was with child was the most distressing revelation, but she’s now realizing that isn’t the case.

Realizing that she  _ wants  _ it is far worse.

“It’s not fair!” she screams at herself in the mirror. At any other time, in any other circumstance, this would be a welcome gift. If only the earth around Emilie’s grave wasn’t fresh. If only Gabriel wasn’t so cold. If only, if only, if only…

She hollers, and cries. She slams her hands against the wall, the counter, and anything else she can hit. She grabs a bottle of soap off the countertop and throws it with all her might, wishing as it explodes in her shower that her broken heart could somehow be healed in exchange.

“It’s not fair,” she whispers, hoarse. She drops to the cold tile floor, cradling her bump, thinking of what could have been.

She breathes heavily, tears beginning to dry. She turns her head with a great deal of effort to look at her reflection on the floor-length mirror hanging from her bathroom door.

“You have to,” she tells her reflection. “You can’t keep it. You keep it, you lose him, you lose Adrien, and possibly your life.”

It’s a pesky thing — that dying seemed so easy until faced with it for real.

After quite some time, she pulls herself to her feet and splashes her face with cold water, feeling it soothe her aching eyes. She reenters her living room with trepidation and picks the pill back up.

She thinks of everything she’s fighting to protect, and she takes it.

As soon as she does it, she bursts into tears again. She notes that she’s cried more in the past week than in several years. She hates crying, and she suspects that the awful mess of her hormones aren’t helping. She tries to think of her emotions being stable again as a silver lining, but as soon as the thought crosses her mind, she only feels worse.

She grabs a pint of ice cream from the refrigerator and curls up pitifully on the couch, eating it right from the carton. She thinks about turning on the TV or the radio, but somehow, that seems worse than embracing the silence.

She sleeps restlessly, feeling sick to her stomach all night, but never able to vomit. She takes several naps throughout the day, and evening returns quickly. She takes her second pill and waits for the worst to come.

And she waits.

And she waits.

Two more days pass, and nothing happens. The horrible cramps and illness that Raimunde had mentioned never come for her. She doesn’t bleed.

It didn’t work.

She hates the bit of relief that comes up. She hates that she’s even more relieved when she looks in the mirror and finds that she looks the slightest bit bigger, even if all it is is a trick of the light.

She doesn’t think it is, though. Once, as she’s standing very still, holding her breath as she examines her bump, she can swear she feels a flutter from within, like the slightest touch of a butterfly’s wings.

She clings to that, as illogical as it is that she would feel anything so early on. But she needs to believe that if the pills didn’t do the full job, they didn’t do anything at all. She cannot bear to think that she’s damaged the fetus in face of the slim chance that she does carry to term.

She receives a text from Raimunde asking how she is. She can hardly breathe as she types,  **It didn’t work.**

**I’m so sorry, sweetie. You need to come in for a surgical removal.**

**No,** Nathalie writes back quickly. She trembles, considering the possibilities. If the pill didn’t work, what does that mean for a surgical abortion? If there’s even the slightest chance of magic interfering, she can’t put her and Gabriel’s identities at risk that way.

**If the first pill worked, this could be very bad. You’d be carrying a dead fetus inside you.**

**It didn’t. I can’t explain how I know, but I know.** That much is true. The pill may have done damage, but she knows the fetus is alive. It’s something deep and instinctual that she couldn’t possibly put into words.

**This is dangerous.** There’s a pause, and then another text.  **It’s BEYOND dangerous.**

**Please trust me. I can’t take off more time from work, and I’m certain the mifepristone did not do its job.**

There is a long period in which Raimunde does not text back. Nathalie squares her shoulders and heads to her bedroom to pack some more clothes. She’s lucky to have some larger pants, since she’d dropped some weight since becoming Mayura for the first time. She also grabs her loosest, thickest sweaters, hoping that they’ll hide her well enough until she can figure out what to do next.

When she returns to the living room, she finds a new text on her phone.  **I hate this. I’m an anxious wreck. But I can’t force you. If you insist on doing this, I need you to set an alarm for every hour over the next few weeks and check yourself for symptoms of sepsis.** Nathalie scans her eyes down the long, upsetting list of symptoms. In a rare stroke of luck, it seems none apply.

Raimunde sends another text.  **What are you going to do now?**

She isn’t sure how to answer Raimunde’s question. It seems like she has no options now. She’s doomed.

She shakes her head. No, this can’t be all that can be done. She’s seen magic with her own eyes. She’s harnessed its power. There must be some way to fix this terrible mistake if the medical approach won’t work.

Perhaps there’s something that can be done with her miraculous. Or Gabriel’s. She huffs. No, of course not. They don’t hold that kind of power.

But, she realizes, another set of miraculouses do.

Seeds of an idea begin to hatch in her head. It’s not a full plan yet, but it’s a start. If she can get the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculouses, she can fix it. She can set everything right.

With her chin held high, looking much braver than she feels, she finally texts back,  **I’ll figure it out.**

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * "<3" as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
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> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)
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> I'd just like to remind everyone that I am not abandoning the main fic! I am taking a brief break to participate in the Gabenath Mini Bang challenge. As soon as I complete that story, I will begin working on TUTB again.


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